


Now & Forever

by TwisterMelody



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunkenness, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 01:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwisterMelody/pseuds/TwisterMelody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an evening out in celebration, Sherlock and John return to Baker Street and together contemplate about what the future may hold in store for the two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now & Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Let's Write Sherlock: Challenge 3!  
> Prompt: Write a story inspired by a piece of music.  
> Inspired by the song "When I'm Sixty-Four" by The Beatles.

John felt absolutely giddy with the heavy taste of wine on his tongue, and judging by the way Sherlock had an arm wrapped around his shoulders as they walked home in the snowy night, he came to the conclusion he felt very much the same. John casually slid his arm around Sherlock's waist to gain some steadiness the evening had taken away. Two long days had been spent with the two of them running around the city like mad men before the case was solved earlier in the evening, leaving it up to John to drag Sherlock out for a celebration he'd nearly forgotten about. They walked in quiet contentment as the snow fell around them, adding a blanket of peacefulness to everything in sight.  
  
"Good birthday, then?" John asked as they made their way to Baker Street.  
  
Sherlock hummed in response, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Mm, wonderful birthday, yes," he remarked. "No better combination than a double homicide and drinks."  
  
John laughed softly. "We should probably watch the drinking bit, we're not as young as we used to be."  
  
Sherlock let out an agitated sigh as John caught him rolling his eyes. "Brilliant deduction," he said sarcastically, his breath disappearing into the chilly night air. "I wonder what you'll say in a few years time, perhaps, 'we're not as old as we're going to be.' Really, John."  
  
John pushed against him slightly, nearly knocking both of them off balance and into the street. "See if I celebrate anything with you again.," he said playfully. "Birthdays, holidays, you can just forget them all now. No griping about it in twenty years, either, you've brought it on yourself," John told him, a definite lightness in his tone  
  
Sherlock pulled John closer, John pillowing his head on his shoulder as they reached 221B. "Do you plan on hanging around that long? Rather unwise, I believe, to plan that far ahead without considering all the variables." Sherlock said in a quiet tone as they walked inside, making their way up the stairs to their flat.  
  
John made his way to the kitchen after shedding his jacket, grabbing another bottle of wine to satisfy their palate. "Sherlock, I wouldn't miss you growing into an old man for the world," he said, pouring the wine into glasses before bringing them over to the coffee table.  
  
Sherlock grumbled from in front of the fireplace as he fanned the new flames, bringing a warmth to the chill of the room. He made he way over to the sofa and snatched up his glass of wine. "I won't be the only one growing older," he pointed out as he made himself comfortable on the sofa, leaning in against against John.  
  
John kicked off his shoes, a smile stretching across his face at the thought of he and Sherlock chasing down criminals in their sixties. There was something comforting about it, a security washing over him. He wrapped his left arm around Sherlock's shoulders, both of them relaxing at the touch. "I suppose that's true," he said, taking a sip of his wine. "That is, if neither one of us end up getting killed before then."  
  
"You'd rather live a life of prediction?"  
  
"No," he told him, "definitely not. But, I would like to live to see the day that slows you down for a moment."  
  
"Nothing will slow _either_ of us down," he said with a tone of finality.  
  
"Arthritis," John mentioned to him.  
  
Sherlock let out a deep groan. "Oh God, you're going to turn into the stereotypical old man, aren't you? Do me a favor and don't become so predictable, John. It would high highly irritating of you," he said. "Constantly fussing over things, complaining about the weather," he carried on as John tried to hide his smile, "you'll probably want to go to bed at some ridiculously normal time, leaving me locked out on a late night case," he grumbled, taking a sip of his wine.

John's shoulders shook with laughter as Sherlock turned to look at him with questioning eyes. "Sherlock," he said, stifling his laugh, "what good would it do me to lock you out? You'd end up breaking in, all the while complaining about how mindlessly simple it was to do so!" He gulped down the last of his drink and sat it down on the table. "Besides, if you think I'm letting you run around London at three in the morning without me, you're mad." John caught the satisfied smirk tugging at Sherlock's lips before contemplating things for a moment in the hazy buzz the drinking had created for him. "What do you need me around for anyway?" he asked jokingly. "I'm handy for making sure you'd get regular meals, I suppose. Can't let you waste away, can I?"  
  
Sherlock shook his head, taking a long sip from his glass. "I need you to be a creative force and state the obvious."   
  
John rolled his eyes at him. "And what about Baker Street?" he asked, suddenly curious. "Do you plan on living out the rest of your days here?"  
  
Sherlock was quiet for a moment as his face became contemplative. He leaned forward, setting his emptied glass on the table in front of them, his eyes gazing into the flames of the fireplace. John vaguely began to wonder if the question should have been asked when Sherlock suddenly twisted around, his long body sprawled along the couch, his head in John's lap. Bright eyes stared back at him when he finally answered. "No," said Sherlock. "Practicality will keep me from doing so."  
  
John knitted his eyebrows together, unsure of what he meant. Had he been wanting to leave Baker Street, to leave everyone behind? What did it mean for the two of them?  
  
"Bees," Sherlock stated suddenly, causing John to completely drop his thoughts. "I've always wanted to keep bees, and I doubt I could do so here. Although -"  
  
"No, no," John said. "Don't even think about it. Bees?"  
  
Sherlock hummed in response, closing his eyes. "Yes. Perhaps at a cottage somewhere, though, not too far from London."  
  
John relaxed a bit, bringing his left arm to rest on Sherlock's chest. "So with this cottage and all, you'd actually take to gardening, then? Maintaining the place?"  
  
Sherlock wrinkled his nose. "Of course not. That's your job."  
  
John snorted. _Of course it is_. "You've got it all planned out then, do you?" He was genuinely curious. He and Sherlock had never really discussed the future, nor what it meant for the two of them.  
  
"Of course. I'll keep bees, and you'll be in charge of the gardening, the cleaning, the cooking, and whatever other boring tasks you deem necessary."  
  
"So," he teased, "I'm expected to do everything else while you're off frolicking with the insects?"  
  
"John, please. I will be observing, not... _Frolicking_."  
  
John started picturing Sherlock roaming around a vast green yard with thousands of bees, along with the thousands of ways it could possibly go wrong. He found it funny but also a bit concerning. "And if you happen to get attacked by a swarm?"  
  
"Not worried about it in the least," he stated, waving a hand in front of his face in a dismissive manner.  
  
"No?"  
  
"Of course not," he said with a sly grin. "I'll have a doctor with me, after all." John stared down at him thoughtfully and Sherlock frowned. "What?"  
  
"Nothing, nothing. Just. Imagining you years from now, you'll probably have laugh lines, and that'll be a sight to see."  
  
Sherlock made a face at him. "I suppose I'll have you to blame for that." John said nothing in return. He sat there grinning, trying to picture it all when Sherlock spoke again. "Your vision will begin to go and you'll be in need of prescription lenses. Perhaps in that time the titles of your blog will become less ridiculous, but I wouldn't hold out too much hope."  
  
John nodded once and then lightly jabbed Sherlock in the side, causing him to jump. Suddenly Sherlock began giggling, and the giggles turned into full out laughter. "What?" John asked, totally perplexed. "What's so bloody funny?"  
  
Sherlock clutched at his stomach and attempted to pause, opening his eyes to look straight into his own. "I've come to the realization that your jumpers will become more horrid over time," he said through giggles.   
  
"Oi!"  
  
"I dare say I dread the day I come home to find you attempting to knit your own hideous creation!"  
  
John couldn't help but to softly laugh at the idea as well. "You watch it Sherlock Holmes," he warned, "or I'll force you to _wear_ my so-called ridiculous creations."  
  
Sherlock smiled up at him wildly. "Oh yes," he said, "I can see it now; we'll sit in the bee-filled yard in hideous jumpers, you sipping on tea as I check the Sunday paper for murders!"  
  
"Is that so?" John asked, grinning at him.  
  
"Of course, aren't you paying attention?" A light suddenly came into his eyes. "And we could go on holidays, making our way across the crime capitals of the world," he said enthusiastically. "All the while you finally getting some use out of your cane to fend off any danger we get into! It'll be brilliant!"  
  
John wasn't sure if it had more to do with the picture Sherlock had painted for them, or the wine resting heavy in their bellies, but he didn't care either way. They were both giggling and so utterly happy that nothing else mattered. The snow continued falling outside as they finally settled. The flames in the fireplace danced wildly, bringing a warm glow to both of their smiling faces. They fell into complete comfort, Sherlock closing his eyes once more as John propped his socked feet upon the coffee table.   
  
"Is that a yes, then?"  
  
"Hmm?" John replied sleepily as the night had finally began to wind down.  
  
"Do pay attention. Tell me precisely, John - do you plan on staying with me that long?" he asked with hesitation at the edge of his voice. John suddenly realized that underneath the humor, Sherlock really was worried about what the future may or may not bring. "There are variables and I wouldn't expect, that is, for you -" he tried adding hastily before John broke him off.  
  
"Sherlock," he said softly, lacing his left hand with Sherlock's right upon the detective's chest, "Haven't you figured it out in that great brain of yours? I'm not going anywhere," he assured him. "You're stuck with me now and forever, you know."  
  
Sherlock let out a deep breath, squeezing his hand lightly. "Good," he nodded, visibly relaxing. "That's... Good."  
  
John smiled down at him. "You're sure you'll still need me, then?" he asked cheekily.  
  
"Of course. It's rather ridiculous to have the notion that I wouldn't."  
  
John felt warmth bloom through his chest at the sincerity of the answer as he started running his right hand through Sherlock's dark curls. "Your hair will probably start to turn silver in time," he told him.

"Mm. Yours is already getting there," Sherlock remarked dryly.  
  
John rolled his eyes and swept Sherlock's fringe back from his forehead, holding it there for a moment. "You'll probably go bald," he stated flatly. Sherlock's eyes shot open in obvious panic, and John's entire body shook with laughter again. He had obviously hit a nerve in vanity, he realized. He quickly combed his fringe back to where it belonged and raked through his hair soothingly. "Sorry," he apologized, laughing softly, "didn't mean it."  
  
Sherlock continued to glare like a petulant little child before softening his expression, letting his eyes flutter to a close. "Forever isn't a measurable amount of time," he said, voice heavy with the fringes of sleep, "and therefore realistically -"  
  
"Shh," John cooed as he continued running his fingers through the man's hair, closing his own eyes as well. "I'll be there to prove you wrong at the end of forever."  
  
"That doesn't make any sense," Sherlock mumbled after a beat of silence.  
  
"Nothing about us makes sense so therefore it makes perfect sense," he murmured.  
  
"John?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
A smile spread across John's face as he breathed out a huff of laughter, certain that Sherlock's face mirrored his own. Sherlock took in a deep breath and squeezed John's hand again, adjusting his shoulders comfortably. John continued combing though his curls as the two of them began to give in to the sleep that was so desperately needed. The flames flickered on throughout the night kindling with them the promise of forever.


End file.
